Feawen-Sereg'wethrin
by Veronica Pevensie
Summary: "Feawen feels shame creeping through her veins. She is a Sereg'wethrin, an assassin, she shouldn't be this weak. But yet, her weaknesses are being attacked by this evil assassin. She feels a horror washing over her. She can't do this. She should never have come here. She sinks down the wall in the realization that she is on the brink of defeat."-Excerpt from Feawen-Sereg'wethrin


FEAWEN-SEREG'WETHRIN

**Author's Note: Hello, my lovely readers! I hope you are having a good day/night/week/crazy party in your head! If you have read my other two stories, please don't hurt me, I know I should be updating, but I am getting nowhere with them right now. I have been writing this for a while and I decided I must get this out even though I really need to update I'm so sorry someone help I'm going run-on this is just like legolas by laura make it stop! Sorry. So... um... let's begin the story.**

**VP**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit.**

-A Hobbit Alternate Universe-

Chapter One:

The forest of Mirkwood is reclusive, secretive and corrupt. No gossip leaves the carefully guarded trees, no one goes in on business. Prince Legolas never tells of his home on his visits to the members of The Fellowship- they, in turn, betray no information of the Elvenking's realm.

This, however, is quickly changing with the news that the Elvenking needs an assassin. But not just any assassin; he's looking for a Sereg'wethrin, an elvish assassin. He needs someone with a good heart (for an assassin) and someone who can root out the enemy that lurks his halls, slaying guards, slitting throats, and killing five new elves each day.

Elves line up, but none can stop the cadaverous murderer from satisfying his thirst for death. And the Elvenking worries.

/-/

King Thranduil sighs as he dismisses another group of hopeful elves wishing to be assassins for him. None of them, none at all, are good enough. They don't have the credentials or experience. All they want is to be the Elvenking's Sereg'wethrin. No, this is untrue. They want to help. And in the beginning the assassins were real- cold, unfeeling-and experienced.

_But you didn't want that. _A voice in his head reminds him. Inhaling deeply, Thranduil closes his piercing blue eyes. He can sense someone different... another assassin? Yes, that is about right. Light steps, alert eyes; has the Sereg'wethrin arrived?

"My lord?" Thranduil's eyes snap open as Galion's voice addresses him.

"Yes, Galion?"

"There is another assassin here, my lord. A she-elf this time- and a real assassin. These are her credentials." Galion hands him a scroll. Thranduil looks over it as Galion shifts a little, waiting. Finally, Thranduil sighs.

"Speak up, Galion."

"My lord... I... it is not my..." He takes a deep breath. "She looks like... you, my lord." Thranduil casts him a sharp glance, but Galion looks serious.

"Show her in." He commands. As Galion leaves, Legolas enters.

"Ada, there is a new assassin here." He says, eyeing the scroll.

"Yes, Legolas. She is good too. Younger; maybe a bit less experienced, but good." Thranduil says absent-mindedly as he reads the words scratched on the scroll. The silence crackles between them until the assassin arrives.

"My lords," She murmurs, bowing low. Thranduil examines her quickly, taking in as much as he can.

_Silver-blonde hair, blue eyes, dark eyebrows, tall..._ the thoughts flash through his head. The elf is wearing brown breeches and a leather vest over a green tunic. He notes the minimal weapons she carries: two daggers plus a bow and arrows. _Hiding them. Clever, very clever._

"What is your name?" He asks her. She doesn't bother pointing out that her name is on the scroll- she merely tells him.

"Feawen."

"And Feawen, do you think you can kill this criminal in my halls?" His heart is racing, but he keeps his composure. _It's her._

"I don't think so. I know so." As she says it, her eyes glint fiercely.

"Are all you assassins so narcissistic?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Depends. Some don't speak at all. Besides, I don't believe you are really someone to call us narcissistic." Legolas looks shocked, but Feawen just smiles at them.

"Most elves- no, most people- wouldn't dare to say that to me." He chuckles. _So she is head-strong. Of course._

"Yes, well, you desperately need my help right now- five elves died three hours ago and the assassins from the past few weeks don't have the credentials, so you're most likely to enlist my aid."

"You're right." Thranduil admits after a moment of silence. "We need you. The job is yours, Sereg'wethrin Feawen."

"Thank you, my lord."

"My servants will show you to your room. Legolas, I need to speak with you."

/-/

The room is beautiful, but Feawen pays scant attention to it. She has never paid attention to the beauty of the rooms she's been in. It's always been about escape. How can she leave if she needs to? Where can the enemy have gone?

/_Just a few days here, and then you're done. You can retreat to the woods where no one, not even The Sorcerer, can find you, and then we'll figure this problem out./_ The internal voice rings in her head. She sits carefully on the bed and wills her tears to disappear. She wants this all to stop- this crazy sense of longing that rips at her heart, already broken and marred from the pain.

_How do Prince Legolas and King Thranduil do it? _She wonders, calling to mind tales of their perfect relationship. _I want that. Why can't I have that?_

_ /Because assassins don't get that. You don't need that. You're independent. You're brave. You're strong. You don't need a family. You-/_

"Sereg'wethrin Feawen? It is time to go to the dining hall for supper." A voice calls through the door. Taking a deep breath, Feawen stands and walks to the heavy oak slab. As soon as it swings open, she is faced by a russet-haired she-elf.

"Thank you for telling me..." Feawen trails off, unsure of the elf's name.

"...Oh! Aranel. I'm Aranel."

"Aranel. That's a nice name. I always wanted that name." Feawen smiles as Aranel leads her to the dining hall.

"T-thank you. I really like your name. Feawen is a magical name," Aranel smiles back shyly as she speaks.

"You think so? Thank you. I wish it would work it's magic. I hate breaking so many bones, even if they heal fast. I've had five ribs, one arm, and my knee broken at once." Aranel's eyes widen and Feawen automatically wonders if she's gone too far.

"Oh no, I'm always taking risks. I'll take the twenty-foot jump because I like the adrenaline." _Or maybe it's the masochist in me._ "Granted, I break something, but it's fun." She casts Aranel a reassuring glance, but Aranel still looks uncertain.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot see the fun in that." Aranel shakes her head.

"A lot of people can't." They both fall silent as they reach the dining hall.

"Are you not coming, Aranel?" Feawen asks as Aranel starts to leave.

"No, I'm going to the kitchens to help."

"Oh. I will see you tomorrow then?"

"Yes. Good night."

"Good night." As Aranel leaves, Feawen bites her lip. _They're just other elves. _She thinks. _I'll be fine._

/_Here we go again./_

/-/

Feawen isn't that hard to spot. Silver-blonde hair stands out in a crowd, even if said silver-blonde haired elf is tucked away happily in the corner with hardly any food. Taking the greatest care, Legolas edges around the large group of elves gossiping about the Sereg'wethrin.

_Why is she sitting alone? _He wonders. As if by magic, Tauriel appears at his side.

"Good evening, Prince Legolas." She says smoothly. "Were you going to talk to Feawen?"

"Ah-yes. Yes, I was." He says slowly, not wanting to reveal his true motive.

"May I accompany you?" The red-head inquires. _So that's why she's sitting alone. They were waiting for me to approach her first._

"Yes; I would appreciate that." Legolas smiles politely and makes his way towards Feawen.

_She looks distracted. _He thinks. Feawen's eyes dart around the room, taking in everything. _/She's analyzing things. She wants to find the assassin./_

Tauriel is speaking to Feawen. Legolas listens absent-mindedly to the two she-elves, but as Feawen starts talking, he tunes in, focusing on her.

_If what Ada says is true... how will that change things? _He wonders, thinking back to his rather serious conversation with his father. _She may refuse to live here, even if Ada offers, which he might. She is an assassin, she makes a living off of doing what she's doing._

"What of your family?" Legolas asks abruptly as Feawen finishes talking. After hesitating a moment, she responds slowly.

"My Naneth died when I was very young. I don't remember any other members of my family."

"Ah. I am sorry to hear that." Legolas says. Feawen smiles politely and looks down at her plate. Tauriel launches into another question as Legolas lets his thoughts drift.

_/Feawen is not aware of what you know. Perhaps nothing will come of it./_

_ No. Ada will speak to her and things will change. I don't mind the change. I just want to know what will happen. I want to know how things will change. _

_ /Go speak to Ada then./_

"I must go. Good evening, Tauriel. Good evening, Sereg'wethrin Feawen." Legolas stands and smiles briefly at them before turning and walking away, cutting of their response.

_Yes. I must speak to Ada._

/-/

Footsteps pad in the hallway as King Thranduil sits with his eyes closed. Hearing them, he opens his eyes and rises slowly, walking to the small table that holds two goblets and a pitcher of wine. The great oaken door, engraved with intricate symbols, swings open.

"You should be at dinner, Legolas." _Keeping an eye on Feawen._

"Feawen doesn't need looking after. I have a question so I came to ask it." Legolas answers briskly.

"Ask then." Legolas takes a deep breath.

"If Feawen is... what you say she is... how will that change things?" He asks slowly.

/_Yes, how will that change things? Will you tell her? She will surely run if you reveal the truth to her./_

_ But I have no other choice. She must know. It has been far too long._

"She would know the truth. Other than that, I do not know." Thranduil answers calmly. He pours wine into the two goblets, turns, and hands one to Legolas.

/_You are making a huge mistake./_

_ That is not true._

_ /...have it your way then. Just don't expect her to call you "Ada"/_

**There we go! Finally done! Please R and R. Seriously, though, the only way I'll get better is if you guys review. Don't worry about criticism. My mom raised me to be able to take constructive criticism. And can anyone guess who Feawen is?**

**-Veronica Pevensie**


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